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The express train to Lausanne  served as a bustling miniature world of genteel society; its dining carriage overflowing with distinguished personas, comprising of royalty, celebrated opera vocalists, and influential military personas, all gathered for a grand dinner.
En route towards the jubilee, the crowd’s favorites were the naval officers, especially the commanding North Sea Fleet’s Captain, Bastian Klauswitz. Amidst the festivity, he stood out as the heartthrob of the hour.
“Remarkable character, Mrs. Klauswitz,” said Countess Klein, seizing the silence. Theodora, previously attuned to the naval officers’ table, redirected her gaze. The Countess could tell  from Theodora’s sharp look the impending response.
“Pardon?”
“I refer to you applauding your stepson’s triumph, even though he usurped the railway project from you.. You’re an extraordinary mother, aren’t you, Ella?”
“Indeed, mother,” agreed Ella softly, her eyes carrying a spark of dissatisfaction as she noticed Franz’s continued attention on Odette.
With a sip of her wine, Theodora stealthily prodded Franz’s leg, making him glimpse her way nervously. Nearly every gentleman in the vicinity had stolen a glance at Bastian’s wife.
“Countess, your praise seems a bit extravagant. We are, indeed, deeply disappointed, but we must separate public matters from personal ones. Despite our strained relationship with Bastian, he remains part of our family. After all, Bastian is my husband’s son, and Franz’s stepbrother,” countered Theodora firmly, effectively silencing Countess Klein.
With each passing day, Bastian’s reputation continued to rise – a phenomenon Theodora intended to exploit. To her, the ‘heroic elder brother’ image could provide a shining reflection that could cascade onto Franz.
“Ladies and gentlemen, let’s raise a toast to the star of our Navy, Captain Klauswitz!” Admiral Demel shouted, rising to his feet and projecting his voice. All eyes in the restaurant fixed on the naval officers’ table.
Amid raucous laughter and enthusiastic applause from the Admiral, a wave of jubilant cheers swept the room. As servers delivered toasts and champagne to each table, Countess Klein and other nobles, who were less fond of Bastian, were forced to raise their glasses, much like Theodora and Franz.
While known for his sociability and preference for strong drinks, Admiral Demel was not an easy figure to mingle with. As the Naval Chief and close confidante of the Emperor, his presence at the Navy festival was perceived as the Emperor’s proxy. He was here to endorse this grand celebration of Bastian’s success.
Gracing Demel’s face was a satisfied smile as he observed Bastian and Odette, a vision as breathtaking as the magazine photographs that caught the Empire’s eye.
“To the Empire’s glory and victory,” toasted Bastian, glasses clinking with Odette’s.
Seeing Bastian as the focal point, all Theodora could muster was a wry smile. The serene dignity she radiated wasn’t learned, but an inherent characteristic.
It was truly beyond her understanding – how could the daughter of a junk dealer and a money launderer birth a son like Bastian?
Having smeared Bastian with various ignominious tags, Theodora was now tasked with digesting this bitter truth. Bastian thrived in adversity, growing stronger instead of succumbing to failure. To him, poison was not lethal but nourishing. Theodora realized her conventional attempts to oust Bastian were futile, fearing he might threaten Franz’s position. So her new plan involved ruining his life from within.
Amidst Admiral Demel’s spirited celebration, the lively atmosphere persisted, foreshadowing a late night for the officers. As dessert arrived, Odette suddenly rose. Observing the Klauswitz couple while sipping her tea, Theodora saw Bastian chatting with Admiral Demel before bidding Odette an early goodbye.
Following Odette’s exit, Bastian retrieved an iris flower from her hair, pinning it onto his collar, and accepted Demel’s offered drink.
Theodora’s expression brightened. Bastian wasn’t one for grand gestures without an audience, and the only remaining reason was something she had been hoping for. It seemed the time was ripe for Franz to overcome Bastian.
*.·:·.✧.·:·.*
Leisurely nursing his cigar and brandy in a freshly refilled glass, Bastian lent half an ear to the inebriated ramblings of a middle-aged colonel. His view began to clear of the hazy cigar smoke, and his eyes, previously at ease, zeroed in on his reflection in the carriage window.
Riding the rhythmic pulse of the rails, the express train pressed onwards towards Lausanne, past shadow-cloaked hills and fields that unfurled in a swift. As the moon’s silvery glow kissed the tranquil surface of the lake,  Bastian stood, snuffing out the last whispers of his half-smoked cigars.
The following afternoon, he’d arrive at Lausanne Station, where he’d need to hurry to the ceremony venue. Achievements tainted with coincidence, luck, intent, and political machinations held the same weight. Even as an admiral, the chance to feel a similar honor would prove difficult.
A sudden longing took hold: he must become Odette’s legal husband before the train concluded its voyage.  He wanted to stand beside her on the ceremony as a legitimately wedded couple, not merely contract-bound, so they could reminisce about that day, forever etched in the sands of time.
His newfound resolution seemed to change the landscape whizzing past the train window, and his strides became lighter. Bastian traversed the dining corridor, heading to the adjacent compartment, quickening his pace as Odette’s carriage neared.
“Why the rush? Cooking up another cunning plan?” Franz appeared suddenly, obstructing Bastian’s path in the guest room corridor.
“Move,” Bastian curtly dismissed Franz, brushing off his hand and advancing towards the door.
“Does the Emperor know his revered war hero is a scam artist peddling fake diamonds?” Franz tried to block Bastian, his fear akin to confronting his father, yet mustering bravery.
“You’ve lost the privilege of railway construction, now involved in a mining hoax?” Bastian retorted, a smile playing on his lips.
“Quit feigning ignorance, Bastian,” Franz demanded, brandishing a stack of papers. “Your deceit nearly worked. Your commitment to perfecting the lie was unwavering. I’m puzzled how you managed an impressive roster of fraudulent investors. Did you buy them off with the proceeds from selling junk? Yet, those prominent figures won’t be easily swayed.”
“You’re drunk. Go back, sleep in your mother’s arms.”
“Though Laviere and Ewald are your confidants, I can’t fathom Herhardt being similarly taken in. Did you grovel and use your sycophantic skills to reel him in?” Franz proffered the stolen list of Odette’s investors, who were duped into believing they’d profit from a bogus diamond mine.
Bastian coolly examined the documents, unnerving Franz.
“You’d do better to shed that military uniform. A magician’s career would suit you better. Wasting your knack for conjuring a diamond mine from barren rock is a pity, isn’t it, fraudster?” Franz hurled the final paper at Bastian, striking his cheek.
Trepidation seized Franz; his actions risked Odette’s safety, but he saw no alternative. He could only hope Bastian wouldn’t pursue brutal measures to Odette.
Surely, Bastian wouldn’t kill the Emperor’s niece. If Odette were harmed and discarded, Franz would rescue and care for her, surrounding her with solace, reprieve, and love. He believed, eventually, she would open her heart to him.
Bastian bent down, slowly retrieving each scattered page.
“You think you’re an omnipotent god. A foolish man who’s smitten with a woman, oblivious to her true identity—a spy.”
“Where is your mother?” Bastian, having read the final page, asked.
“Why inquire about my mother?” Franz bristled,  “This is a matter between us…”
“Best you reveal yourself, Mrs. Klauswitz!” Bastian suddenly hollered, perceptive of her lurking behind the shut door.
Franz’s gaze turned sheepish at his mother. Soon, the corridor door swung open.
“Wish to weep on my shoulder? By all means, but shouldn’t you meet your wife first? Odette holds your answers, not me.” Theodora juxtaposed herself before Bastian with a smile gracing her face,. Concurrently, Franz’s fear surged as another passenger’s footsteps echoed closer.
“M-Mom.”
“Till next, Mrs. Klauswitz.”
“Okay. Let’s go, Franz.”
On departing, Theodora’s sight fell on Bastian, firmly grasping the document pilfered by Odette.
“If only you were my son…”  Theodora’s whisper lingered in the air as she bypassed Bastian. ‘I would give you the world.’ She swallowed these words, to spare Franz any
Before the corridor door shut behind her, Theodora glimpsed Bastian entering Odette’s compartment.
The eve of a grand celebration was dawning.